The Lost Mind of Mencia (Episode)
Hello. I know that you know me. You know me all too well. I used to be 'big star', as the Japanese hentai lovers say when whaling for their nomadic dinners. Call me 'Weeaboo'. I sought the whale. I fought the whale. Hook, line, and sinker. I lost my soul in Seoul to the whale. The lesson is, Lisa: try, try again. But that…Mencia. Mind, of Mencia in fact. Who was this man? A Hispanic American-genius who stole the hearts of us, refried beans of powerful humor and expression the likes of which I’ve never seen on this show called living. It all started at 7-11. It was a dark and stormy night, and I had to scratch my hairy mothballs. McDonalds, Burger King, Hachi Machis dinner. Jack in the Box. I once ate a literal metallic jack that was contained within a box. I choked to death, and I started the process of dying. Hack-ack! That was just a joke, I myself am an aspiring stand up comedian, and by comedian, I mean I hope you comedi-die luaghin’ at these jokes. However, something truly horrific, life changing, life shattering, mental health damaging and disturbing happened to me one day at the 7/11. It was just another day at the 7/11, just another day. Me, a big gulp, and my girlfriend a box of queso dipping sauce with Carlos Mencia’s face on the side. It was the Mencia promotional bean dip! And yes, the show’s been off the air for years, so it was expired. I found it behind the slurpee machine, covered in what looked like cum, old funyuns wrappers and what I hoped to god was just pasta sauce. “MENCIA!” I screamed. The manager leered. He looked very angry, angrily angry, as though his anger was going to murder someone. And that anger was correct: later in the day, he killed my hopes and aspirations of every enjoying Mind of Mencia again. My favorite show, a show among shows, the greatest show, of all the shows. Knowing that, now deceased, I could never apply for unemployment, I took a deep breath and glanced into my afterlife. Selling paint at the Home Depot on Southern Lopez Boulevard. All that was left for me now? Hot pockets. What else was left for me now? Peanut brittle. What did I once have, however? A hit television variety program on Comedy Central, entitled 'Viva Variety'. 'Mind of Mencia'. Me, Ned Holsman, America's #1 Hispanic television father. Television, as in fictional. There are no Hispanic fathers. I live out of a cushy van these days. I eat tide pods and dog turds for breakfast. And I sing. Oh god do I sing, you see: back when we were kids, Mind of Mencia taught us, IF YOU LIVE ON TORNADO ALLEY, Mencia taught us things. Carlos Mencia taught me to ask my wife if she masturbates in the shower. I learned a lot from him, as I brought the Mencia dip to the counter. The manager was a shorter, stout Hispanic man, with a barber quartet beard and red, piercing, demon like rat eyes, the eyes of a rat, or a shrew, or a baby marsupial, shrill and piercing, cold as ice, his Spanish anger pierced into my soul. “You can’t buy that dip! It’s expired!” “Ok.” I said. He was hiding something, this dip meant something, it was the Mencia dip, a $1,000,000 Ebay rarity that mere mortal men would scalp and fry a lowly fry cook comic-sans-loving comedian for. I decided to take out something from my stand-up repertoire. “I think I’ll take this dip.” I took out my middle finger, peeled back the dip cover, and dipped my middle finger in, giving him the middle finger! “Hahahaa!” I laughed, I looked a the other customers, laughing, laughing, we all laughed, this was some funny, fuckin’ funny stuff. I was fuckin’ laughin. Carlos fucking Mencia could cure your fuckin’ cancer. “This fuckin’ guy-“ The manager took out an elephant gun that contained tranquilizer. Having not received proper medical treatment for buckshot now lodged inside my mouth, ears, cheeks and anus, (I had my tear ducts removed), I tripped down the freeway, back toward CC HQ. I suddenly remembered my favorite mencia joke, and I don ‘t have multiple personality disorder. “My asshole had an itch, so I scratched it off and it bled.” Highly realistic comic sans blood dripped all over my car seat headrest and cushion. I felt myself losing consciousness from blood loss. Knowing that I could never return to 7-11 again unless escorted by a police officer, I swerved off the side of the road and crashed into a tree on purpose and died again. My head was caught in a driving reel, and my body never was found. And by died, I mean died laughing, my comic stylings were on the level of Uncle Phil from the fresh prince, or larry the cable guy, who, to my knowledge, never actually installed cable. The tranquilizer began to kick in. “An elephant never forgets..! An eye for an eye-” I was practicing my routine but the car accident had caused carbon monoxide from the engine to begin flowing into my nostirils, ruining my routine. When I woke up, I saw a bright light. Luckily, I was already blind in one eye, and once you are blinded in one eye, you cannot be blinded in the other. I was In a hospital bed. “Where is the mencia dip??!” I screamed. Indeed, someone. The doctor was consuming my Mencia dip. “I love George lopez!” Claimed the physician. “You lost your eye.” The doctor said. You could see the finger grinding uncomfortably against the opened, expired dip. “Thankfully, we had a donor. You may know him. We all know him. It’s local good Samaritan- I cut him off half sentence. “I can’t be blind!” I screamed. “How will I see the hecklers?” The doctor laughed. “The only heckler was god, when he took your fuckin’ eye. But- we had a donor, as I said. And you may know him-“ I felt my left eye, and indeed, patches were placed on the eye. The doctor told me not to remove the bandages yet, because those that do often suffer a fate worse than death. But I just wanted to see. I just wanted to see if I got my eyesight back. “I’m not writing for you david!” The doctor said. “Now take two of these and call me in the morning.” He handed me a prescription that looked like chicken scribbles as two security guards lifted me out of the hospital bed, shoved me in a wheel chair and sent me flying out of the fucking building. I just wanted my dip back. I just wanted my Carlos Mencia dip. It was to premote the juevos-del-lochos, a three pound bucket of fried pork skins covered in mole sauce and spicy el dorodo dressing, we all remember carlos mencia, we all remember… When I got home the first thing that I noticed was that the cable was out. I decided to- well, curiosity got the best of me. The bandage was wet and covered in blood and perspiration. But I had a new eye, my dream of being a non-hispanic Hispanic American comedian could still come true, the doctor gave me a new lease on life. A new lease… Little did I know that leases don’t come with expired warranties. I removed the eyepatch expecting to see a great vision, but instead… Carlos mencia…spider bitch, I was seeing carlos mencia! Mind…of Mencia. My god. No! I screamed. I closed my functioning eye as I saw Mencia stomping on an old N64 scart grid, whikle the audience in my headn laughed uproariously. “NO!” I screamed. “I have… I have….” “MIND OF MENCIA!” I screamed!” At first it wasn’t so bad. I could do the laundry and cook hungry man dinners, make origami napkins and jerk off on the couch. But eventually… I couldn’t take the jokes anymore! “Why do you even have tornado alley? Because you LIVE on tornado alley! Oh no my house was killed by a hurricane!” Normally I’d pick up the VHS and I’d smash it, but this was my head- This was, my fucking head! I ran into the bedroom, trying to find any old Mind of Mencia vhs lost episodes, hoping this was a lost episode, but it wasn’t. It was my head. It was… my fucking head. “I’m mind of menacing! I starred in an early 00’s that aired from July 6, 2005 to July 23, 2008. Three fucking years! Three. FUCKING! YEARS! Now for the piñata! He had an audience member go up to the stage and stand there, and then he hit him in the fucking head with a fucking bat. He squealed in horror to the sound of a hideous crack. I closed my left eye, I couldn’;t watch this anymore. I couldn’t adjust the coax cables, I couldn’t adjust my life. He had already won, he was in my fucking head. My fucking. HEAD. I suddenly remembered the prescription the doctor had written for me. I got on the phone with the pharmacist and told him off right quick. “WHAT WAS THAT PRESCRIPTION FOR?!” I was very angry, and my one eyes was bloodshot, while the other played all 52 episodes of Mind of Mencia, from left to write, back to back,sometimes in reverser, often with him assaulting audience members. “You sound defenstratively disheveled.” The pharmacist said. “The prescription… was for refried beans.” What? What in god’s name. The pharmacist started to cry on the other end of the phone. “I can’t- I can’t fulfill this prescription. You’ll have to go to Taco Bell.” CLICK. It had been three days. I closed my right eye to see what carlos mencia was up to. “It’s a fun day in Los Dellos Ochos, to kill your fuckin’f amily!” He was shown shoveling dirt on a shallow grave outside 7/11. “It’s a fun day in dell loss ochos! To kill your fuckin’ fish!” I didn’t want to watch this show anymore. “It’s a fun day in cabreza los asesinato! To stab your friends with a dish!” Carlos mencia had smashed a glass and started stabbing audience members with it. “BEANER MAN! He was wearing a spandex out fit and began stabbing someone with a taco. I ran, ran back to the hospital, breaking through the front door. “WHY DID YOU GIVE ME THAT FUCKIN’ EYE?!” I screamed. “WHY DID YOU GIVE ME THAT FUCKING EYE?” The doctor looked puzzled, there was some mencia nacho dip on his chin. “It was, it was the local donor, a very popular local donor.” A very popular local donor indeed. The Hispanic gentleman walked in, smiling, smiling a half-toothed smile. The doctor took out some fritos and began consuming my dip. “He’s a very popular donor. A very. VERY. Popular donor.” A popular donor indeed. “He’s the most popular, of all the donors, and what makes him a very ,very special donor, is that he’s not even dead. Welcome… Carlos Mensora!” The Hispanic gentleman smiled at me. He looked exactly like Hispanic-American carlos mencia, except he was missing several teeth, his left eye, an ear, several fingers and had a gimp leg. “I’m not carlos mencia!” He said, but I hadn’t accused him of anything. Then he began to whisper a disturbing whisper. “Somewhere, someone, somewhere, someone is touching tacos, someone’s teeth is feeling that taco crunch, that hot taco crunch, and someone, somewhere is hearing the finest standup jokes, the standup jokes. Tacos and salsa, ground beef and picadillo de rancheroz. And somewhere, somewhere, someone is watching Carlos Mencia with a Hispanic eye.” He winked an eyeless wink, his gimp leg causing him to fall on the floor. In the mean time, the eye showed a Hispanic man flipping over the hospital cot, spilkling hot beef and solur cream all over the floor, and killing the nurses, and killing the patients, and killing everyonme. Carlos Mensora smiled. It was a sinister smile, I’ll tell you that much. “He’s just a comedian.” The doctor said. “There’s nothing evil about a comedian.” But I saw the vision, my eye was bloodshot, I saw the vision. I picked up the carlos mencia dip, taking it from the doctor with force, and splashed into my cornea. “NO!” The doctor screamed. “That dip cost 576 dollars!” Everyone on the show in my eye suddenly began getting covered in dip and screaming! “You’re just adding flavor to taco Tuesday!” The Carlos Mencia in my head screamed. “TACO TUESDAY! IT’S TACO FUCKIN’TUESDAY!” I later found it that it was actually Wednesday. Carlos mensora cackled, and began coughing up blood. I picked up a scalpel off of a tray and stabbed myself in the fuckin’ eye. My mencia eye. “AHHH!” The pupil screamed. I fell down on the floor as blood spurted out of the ciliary muscle, pupil, cornea, sclera and iris. I had lost my mind of mencia. Mind of fuckin’ mencia. George bush, Sunday night football, lizard men and the government caused 9/11. Carlos Mensora opened up a bible and began to quote his favorite verse, just as the real Carlos Mencia Walkd in. Just as the real carlos mencia walked in. "If your right eye makes you stumble, tear it out and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. Happy Cinco De Mayo, I hope you get cancer.” The doctor looked very confused. The doctor… looked very confused. And so was I. And so were we. The audience laughed rather loudly, and by that I mean the morgue. My stand-up comedian act had succeeded. The mortally wounded and the dead were laughing at me. The mortally wounded, and the dead, were laughing. At me. The end. Category:Lost Episodes Category:CreepyPasta Article Category:Creepypastas narrated by DaveTheUseless